One cannot dictate an aphorism to a typist. It would take too long.

Solitude would be ideal if you could pick the people to avoid.

Curses on the law! Most of my fellow citizens are the sorry consequences of uncommitted abortions.

When I don't make any progress, it is because I have bumped into the wall of language. Then I draw back with a bloody head. And would like to go on.

There is a shortage of clerks. Everyone is going into journalism.

Adults who still derive childlike pleasure from hanging gifts of a ready-made education on the Christmas tree of a child waiting outside the door to life do not realize how unreceptive they are making the children to everything that constitutes the true surprise of life.

I have decided many a stylistic problem first by my head, then by heads or tails.